Thursday, March 11, 2010

Boring Story #3

Melinda was tired. She sat down at the bar and stared at the golf game on the television. What do these guys do once they retire, joked her husband. Golf was from Scotland like her. She had told the young couple just that very thing only a few minutes ago. She missed her cat. He had such personality. He had a meow for every mood. In the morning it was more like mearoww and in the evening it got more sweet like meeeeoow. She had only had him for a year and she already considered him like family. I mean, who has a cat like this? She knew just how to pick him up. One motion with your arm. Up and onto your shoulder. He was black with white paws. Like he has a tuxedo on!

She was drinking scotch and soda and Edgar was absorbed in the game. She looked over at the young couple that was playing darts. Darts were invented in Britain you know. People there have dart boards in their own rooms with the backs of their doors covered in holes. It’s like swiss cheese but of wood. She told the young couple her knowledge about darts. She liked the way her white shawl sort of radiated in the peculiar black light shining at 3:30 in the afternoon on a Sunday. She felt elegant but at the same time, sort of peppy. Fun. You know. Tim, the bartender, was telling a story about almost kicking someone out because they were such knuckleheads. She liked the dog. It had long floppy ears like a lop eared rabbit. It had just been shaved for summer. You wouldn’t want to be a long haired dog like that would you? She put her face down by its mouth, and wrapped her hands around its soft, newly hair-cut, head. “You like your new hair cut don’t you? Don’t you?” She squished her face up real tight and smiled broadly into the dogs saggy face. She loved this. She always loves a good dog. Who doesn’t for Christ’s sake?

She got up from her chair and walked outside. The sky had begun to rain which let the humidity crack open a bit. Edgar would be coming out soon to smoke a butt. She sat on the plastic chair and lit up a Virginia Slim. Her fingernails rapped on the plastic covering of the outdoor tables. The young couple was still playing darts. She loved that dog, but she also loved her cats. Isn’t it great to smell that rain after it hits the ground?

About Nato Thompson

I work as a chief curator at a public art (I like to think cultural) organization called Creative Time. I tend to privilege projects that deal more directly with urgent social issues of our time (not because I am hell bent on political art, but I simply feel that the urgency of our times demands a more serious and radical form of cultural production). I was raised by loving hippie parents and had a wonderful smiling brother, Eli. I tend to use this blog for musings on subjects ranging from contemporary art, to political theories, to philosophical musings, to bad jokes, to sweet thoughts, to dreams. I would love for you to comment.